


the sky is caving in

by ToyBoxOfSuz



Series: The Familiar Chronicles [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Familiar Peter, Familiars, M/M, Magic, Magic-Users, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Spells & Enchantments, Steter Week, Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-25
Updated: 2014-10-25
Packaged: 2018-02-22 13:16:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2509160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToyBoxOfSuz/pseuds/ToyBoxOfSuz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Magic is real. Peter is an awful familiar. Stiles is a beginner in magic and casts a life threatening spell...</p>
            </blockquote>





	the sky is caving in

**Author's Note:**

> This story was going to be my NaNoWriMo project, but I decided to write a kind of 0th chapter for it for Steter week on tumblr~ I will attempt to write the whole story in November.
> 
> I also feel the need to apologize to anyone who's familiar with the Dungeons&Dragons worlds, because I took some titles and twisted them around... I am sorry, please look away.
> 
> Betaed by Evy~

It’s not that magic was uncommon. It was a part of everyday life though not as significant as it was hundreds of years before. The world was slowly changing, adapting. Magic took a lot of energy and studying. Not so many people were keeping up with it when mechanics, machines and human inventions were making life easier year by year. They discovered electricity, they could move huge carriages with steam, then with gas, and not with the power of their souls moving the air around them. The buildings became taller and more solid without burying incense and enchanted rocks in the ground. The lifespan of people stretched without healing spells. The world slowly started to leave magic behind and turn into something more practical and concrete.

Magic slowly got practiced less and less. The Spellmasters rarely had students anymore and the students often were unable to master the whole knowledge of their teachers in one lifetime. Magic spells and practices were slowly dying out as no one ever used them. It turned the practice of magic more mysterious and wild. Spellmasters left secrets behind, unsolved mysteries and spells no one could use. And the world didn’t miss any of it. Small magical practices were still in use in some places, and a few families of the Spellmasters remained, keeping their legacy tucked away from an uncaring world.

But that didn’t mean that young, curious teenagers wouldn’t ever try to take their families’ Spell Book and practice the spells from them even after their father told them to keep their sticky fingers away from it or any magic for that matter.

Stiles wouldn’t want to have any of that. He remembered his mother showing him how wonderful magic can be. She could make flowers bud in the middle of winter, she could cast a rainbow in his bedroom, she was able to make the pictures in his picture book move and tell the stories of lost treasures and dragons themselves. Magic wasn’t destructive as his father was telling him and he would prove it. Stiles was determined to prove it to his father.

He was only seventeen and he was brilliant. Only, he was extremely stupid when he thought he could take the wings of an angel on a sole human body…

\--

The Astral Plane was grey. Sometimes white, or black, but it was mostly grey. Peter didn’t particularly care about the grayness and the dull vibes the things gave out as he passed them. But he could never get used to the burned out house he always found himself in. There weren’t _things_ on the astral plane, it was between life and death and he always rolled his eyes at that description. Humans used the words ‘life’ and ‘death’ so easily after all and a place called ‘between life and death’ had a great ring to it, but no one could actually interpret what it was really like. So being in a house, that didn’t exactly serve its purpose anymore, was just plain annoying.

Humans, Peter called them that. Once he was human too. Was he? Probably. The others often told him how spirits like him weren’t coming from the astral plane or other planes around them or were born from magic, but cursed by spells. He was cursed to become a wolf without a pack, resembling a lone, feral animal and being able to turn against their masters who summoned them.

Peter wasn’t a good familiar. He killed other familiars. Peter also killed humans, either for his master’s command or against it. Peter killed his masters too. They told him he will forever be a slave at this rate. He knew it should concern him and it did, but it didn’t change his nature at all. There were no consequences. What could they do? Kill him? That would have been the only salvation he wanted, but unfortunately, familiars could not be killed. Peter tried it all, but he always, always ended up on the Astral Plane, feeling disappointed and angry and the house he was ‘living’ in always seemed a bit more menacing, a bit angrier than when before he left it.

After a while, Peter gave up on trying to die. He rather decided to rise up to one of the strongest familiars and when he gathers enough power, he will break the chains that shackled him and be free and immortal and take on familiars on his own. And during this journey, he became a familiar people summoned with caution, to take on his knowledge and powers, mostly for their own selfish reasons...

Every time a poor soul summoned Peter back on the ‘natural world’ or by some old name of it the ‘Prime Material Plane’, it started with a tug, a pull, then a rush as if he’d been born again. Because he was. His body had to die on the Astral Plane and had to be reborn in the natural world. Usually in front of a power hungry mage or witch. They were usually strong magicians, knowing the tricks of their trade and being experienced with their spells and magic and thinking they can take on the Wolf…

So Peter didn’t expect to open his eyes to see one of the most dreadful images he ever encountered. The mage was just a boy, Peter felt the connection between them. His sorry excuse of a soul had connected with the boy’s kneeling in front of him and it filled his limbs with such warmth Peter felt a long, long time ago. The kid's name was Stiles, but it wasn’t his real name and Peter wondered how the hell he could summon such a powerful familiar without his _real_ name? Names were important in spells and of course many spellcasters avoided using their own because of this reason. But why would this boy avoid using his own?

“Help me…” Peter heard Stiles speak in a hoarse voice and it tore into him like nothing else. It almost made him feel worried. So the wolf took in the scene in front of him once again.

Wings.

The wings of an angel on a fragile human body. On a teenage human body. The wings were growing fast and evil and Peter couldn’t help his smirk. He knew this spell. He was there when his master had created it to teach a lesson to young magicians who wanted more, who wanted to be one of the gods... one of the angels. He only heard the effects of this spell and now he could see how it was working too and oh it was _magnificent_.

"Help me..." the boy called again in a weak voice, looking up at Peter with dark eyes and the wolf knew he was dying. His clothes were torn where the wings broke out of his body and he was covered in blood. The familiar wondered if he can survive this and once again, something similar to worry hit him.

Peter parted his lips to ask the boy how could he help him without hands, but only then he realized... he wasn't summoned here in his wolf form. He had taken upon the form of a man and that only happened with the most powerful mages. Peter's smirk wavered as he was watching the boy lose his stance and fall forward. He stepped forward without hesitation, catching the boy before he could hit the ground. Peter felt his strength, his _whole_ strength wake up in his body and he knew in that moment that this boy put everything on him. This boy wanted to be saved by him. What a fool, Peter thought as he was watching the giant wings slowly growing out of Stiles' body. They were already bigger than the boy and tainted by his blood.

"Yes master." Peter whispered then and grabbed one of the wings to tear them out of Stiles' body. He needed all his strength to do it and he had to be careful. If he plucks the wing out carelessly half the boy's flesh would come with it and that would end both of them.

Stiles screamed in pain and grabbed onto Peter's arm with all his leftover strength. He reminded Peter of someone being tortured. Most probably because Stiles _was_ being tortured. The goal of the spell was to make mere mortals  realize they can not take on the wings of an angel and made them remember it very well. And Peter was sure Stiles will learn his lesson, taken he would stay alive.

As he was trying to take the wing, he searched his master’s mind for the knowledge of this world. It must have been more than a hundred years since he’d walked the natural world and he had a lot to catch up to. But he wondered if thread and needles still existed… Just as he was thinking that, Stiles remembered he'd seen thread and needles in the lobby of the motel. A-ha, so this wasn't the place the boy lived, it was just temporary accommodation. It wasn't too cozy. Especially with all the blood around.

Peter focused his magic and summoned the thread and needle next to him and continued his task: to take off those wings. He licked his lips and gripped the slippery limb tighter and pulled again. Stiles screamed, his fingers dug into Peter's arm and he was shaking from pain. Of course, it must have been like one of his arms or legs getting torn off. Peter pulled at the wing more, wondering how powerful Stiles' magic could have been to be able to summon such wings.

After a little while Stiles' wing let go and Peter could pull it off his body, just to grab the other one and repeat the procedure. Stiles wasn't screaming this time. His throat was too dry and his screams ended in coughs and wheezes, he was getting weaker. But the rest was just coming, Peter thought.

As the wings were off, lying around them, mocking and disgusting despite their angelic glow, Peter had to close the wounds so no wings could grow from them again. He had to be quick. His hands were covered in blood and it made the threading of the needle a slightly bit difficult.

'What is he doing... ?’ Peter heard Stiles' thought in his head. The boy most probably had no damn idea how familiars worked, which was adorable at some point, but also annoying. Incompetent masters were good for nothing and more than one ended under Peter's claws and teeth.

'I will sew you close.' the wolf answered in thought and felt Stiles' body tense. Oh, poor boy, yes it's not over yet. Peter actually chuckled as he held Stiles tighter and started sewing the wounds together. He was a powerful familiar with a wide set of powers, but healing... healing was always a difficult part for him. Mostly because his whole nature was destructive and healing wasn't going well with destruction.

Stiles was strangely silent as Peter was working on his wounds, holding onto Peter's arm for dear life. But as Peter was working, Stiles' grip was getting weaker too. He was dying.

"Master." Peter called him quietly as he finished with the sewing, but Stiles didn't answer. "Master." Peter called again shaking the boy and there was no answer once again. The wolf huffed and turned Stiles' body on its side on his lap, slipping an arm around his shoulders and moved to cup his face. Peter's fingers were wet from blood and he left stains on too white skin, dotted with moles. This boy had only one order for him and that was to help him. And he was strong enough to force Peter to comply. So he shook him again, calling his name louder. "Stiles!"

It did the trick, because Stiles jerked and opened his eyes. His lips parted yet again on a painful groan and his gaze showed confusion. Peter caressed his cheek gently,  caring more about the contact than about the fact that he's staining Stiles' face with blood.

"You need to stay awake." Peter explained gently, tilting his head to look into Stiles' face. Two tear filled, whiskey colored eyes turned toward him and once again, Peter felt his whole damn existence shake. There was something about the eyes of this boy...

"It hurts." Stiles croaked, his fingers shakily grabbing onto Peter's shirt.

"You should have thought about that before you decided to play angel." The familiar spoke quietly, noting how warm Stiles’ fingers were against his skin even through his shirt, even if Stiles’ fingers were not warm at all.

"I didn't want to be an angel." The boy spoke in a cough and Peter held him tighter for some reason. Did he want to comfort him? "I just wanted to fly." Stiles whispered and closed his eyes once again. And Peter actually smiled at his answer. He wasn’t sure he believed the boy, but it didn’t really matter.

"Only those with light souls can fly, Master." The familiar spoke in a deep voice. "Creatures who don't need to learn what happiness is. Unfortunately, humans aren’t like that." No, humans were damned to walk this Earth on two legs, sometimes crawling and kneeling. Only the most powerful magician was able to take on a spell which handed them the power to fly like a bird.

"I'm never going to fly then." Stiles whispered, thinking about birds and clouds on a clear blue sky. And Peter followed that thought. He was walking with Stiles on a clearance with emerald grass and the wide blue sky above them waiting for them to conquer it. And Peter could feel Stiles pain that he can't. Sudden pain hit him as Stiles squirmed in his arms. Another set of wings strained against the sewed wounds and Peter shook his head as the thought of death filled Stiles' head.

'You're not going to die.' The familiar told his master without words and Stiles didn't believe him. He was thinking of this man, his father, Peter realized. Stiles saw his father and his friend Scott looking at him and crying, and Stiles felt utter shame of disappointing them with his death. It was the worst kind of death. Peter killed a lot of people who had the same thoughts. People who felt shame over their death, wishing they could have changed things for the better: go back to their families, feeling regret over unsaid words, over undone acts... and Stiles was the same.

But Peter's order was to help his Master. So he slipped his hand on Stiles' back and tried to collect all his magic to drain the leftover power of the spell from Stiles' body. It was a delicate act and Stiles' mind was a mess and Peter was still trying to get used to his Master's soul, his magic and the knowledge of his world. This was also a spell which he used to drain his incompetent masters of their powers. But this time, he just wanted to stop the spell to work on Stiles.

The boy sobbed into his chest, scared and aching from various reasons.

"Make it stop, make it stop!" Stiles cried desperately, squirming in Peter's hold and the familiar growled. The spell was a strong one and it took time to drain it and Stiles' screaming didn't help. It made Peter’s soul ache in a way that made him the most confused. He didn't remember he ever felt this intense about any of his Masters before. He didn't like it.

As he finally drained the last of the spell from Stiles' body, he attempted to heal the wounds. Another difficult task, taken his weakest skill was healing. But as Peter collected the magic he felt Stiles offer his own. The familiar wasn't sure he was doing it consciously, but at this point he took everything he had to to close those wounds. He used as much of Stiles' magic  he could without killing the boy.

Stiles’ wounds slowly closed and the bleeding stopped, but unfortunately two huge scars stayed on his shoulder blades where the wings were trying to tear out of his body. Any other better skilled familiar could have closed the wounds without scars, but not Peter. He rather opened wounds than closing them. And wounds made by spells were even more difficult. The wolf sighed, leaning his back against the bed as he was holding his Master. And something like nostalgia hit him. The scent of blood, the pain, the warm body in his arms and that aching in his chest were awfully familiar and Peter caught himself looking down at Stiles curiously.

The boy was looking back at Peter, just as confused. His eyes were glinting with tears, his cheeks were messy with his blood and he was pale as a ghost. But he was going to survive.

They didn’t move for long hours. Stiles was dozing off in Peter’s arms and the familiar didn’t want to disturb him. He needed his rest and he was holding onto the wolf’s shirt for dear life. But as the hours were slowly creeping past them the familiar could feel life fill up the boy’s limbs, giving back some of his colors.

“I need to call my dad.” was Stiles’ first sentence when he came around. Peter frowned for a second, but as he was looking around in the boy’s mind for the meaning of that phrase he discovered mobile phones. Now, weren’t they useful…

“You do as you please, Master.” he muttered, looking down at Stiles in his arms. The boy slowly moved and pushed himself up with trembling limbs, looking like a chick just getting out of the egg. And Peter had to chuckle a little at that thought, considering a pair of huge and messy wings were laying around them. Stiles’ attention was turned toward the stains of blood and wings around the room too. Fear and worry hit him again as he was looking at the scene of the crime.

Crime.

Stiles wasn’t supposed to be here, Peter realized. He was running away.

“Stop that!” Stiles croaked then, grabbing his head as if that would get Peter to keep out. But actually, something else did. Stiles’ damn order made Peter unable to look into his thoughts more. The familiar rolled his eyes and slowly stood up.

“Now now, you shouldn’t be angry at me, runaway boy.”

“Where did the ‘Master’ go?” Stiles asked, looking up at Peter with a glare.

“I could answer that with a rather obscene comeback, but really, I have my manners.” Peter chuckled, watching Stiles stumble on his feet too. They were the same height and yet the boy felt so small in his arms just a few minutes ago. He still seemed disoriented and will feel like that for a few days. He just got his wings torn off after all.

“Don’t look at me like that...” Stiles flailed weakly then and attempted to wrestle down his ruined shirt.

“Like what?” Peter asked, cocking his chin up.

“Like that... It's creepy." The boy muttered as he stumbled toward the bathroom. Peter just chuckled and moved to sit down on the bed. He never expected his master to be thankful, of course, no one was. Not with him. They summoned him for his powers, for knowledge and they expected him to just give it. Because he was a slave, a familiar, damned to serve his masters until the end of time. He heard Stiles curse as he checked the scars on his back and Peter chuckled.

'It will be difficult to hide that from your father, won't it?' he singsonged in his thoughts and Stiles went stiff. Peter smirked, leaning back on his hands, looking around their blood filled room. 'He should be happy you're alive.'

"Yes, so he could kill me himself." Stiles stated gloomily, somehow refusing to answer to Peter telepathically again. He was looking at his reflection in the mirror, his eyes dark and his frame shaking. Then he seemingly decided to turn his attention to the other matter, to the wolf in the room. He stopped in the door of the bathroom, eying the familiar. Peter watched as the boy licked his dry lips, thinking about a million questions, deciding which he should start with.

"You don't look like a fox to me." Stiles muttered.

"What gave it away? The stubble?" Peter chuckled, rubbing his chin with a smirk. His master just shook his head and crossed the room to find a book under his torn wings. A Spell Book, Peter noted, though as Stiles opened the heavy lid and flipped through torn, yellowish pages the wolf froze. "Let me see that." he demanded, getting up from the bed and moving toward Stiles.

"The fuck, no!"  Stiles shrieked pulling the book to himself. "Familiars can't look into Spell Books!"

"As if I'm not aware of that." Peter smiled tight, his eyes flashing blue in anger. “Now give it to me!” He moved to get the book by force, but Stiles jumped up, his voice roared through the room making the windows rattle.

"I forbid you to take even a peek into this book, do you understand?” the boy stated the order and Peter opened his mouth to tell him he will make him choke on that book if he won’t hand it over. But something entirely else bubbled from his throat.

“Yes, Master.” he said, snarling. Peter’s eyes were intent on Stiles and the book, but the boy didn’t budge. His order was like iron chains on Peter. It wasn’t that he couldn’t go against his Master’s wishes; it depended on how strong the order was and Peter had a way to break the orders. He broke stronger orders than this, but not when he was weak from healing. So he just took a step back.

Stiles licked his lips again and looked into the book, frowning. Peter itched from the need to see that book. It was a book he knew, but didn’t know from when and how. He just knew that that book had answers to questions he forgot long, long ago and he shouldn’t have.

“I don’t understand it says here you’re supposed to be a fox.” Stiles muttered, rubbing his cheek a little tired. “But you’re a wolf.”

“Now, that can only mean one thing, can’t it?” the familiar sighed. “You messed up, Master.”

Stiles bit on his lower lip, eying Peter again and oh he so wasn’t aware that he was in mortal danger. Peter could have jumped on him and torn his throat out and yet, they were still having a kind of conversation.

“Yes, yes I did. And I’m gonna make it right.” Stiles sighed, looking back up to Peter. “I’m not gonna keep you.”

“Excuse me?” Peter frowned, tilting his head to the side as he was eying the boy. “You want to terminate our pact mere hours after you summoned me?”

“Uh… yeah?”

“That is such a waste of energy, Master. I could be useful to you. I could teach you, I could show you so many things. Things you never even dreamed of before.” Peter whispered, his eyes squinting as he was searching for any kind of sign that Stiles will keep him. The Natural World was better than the Astral Plane, especially when Peter got to keep his human body. Especially when he was able to feel things. This boy had power and he had no idea and it made him an easy target.

“I know.” Stiles said, swallowing. “I saw many things in your head.” he said, his voice shaking a little. Peter growled deep in his throat, he wasn’t sure how much the boy saw, but apparently it was enough for him to not to keep him around much. “So I’m not going to keep you.”

“Do you even know how to send me back?” Peter challenged, spreading his arms a little. Stiles swallowed and slowly buried his hand into the pocket of his jeans, just to reveal a lighter.

“I’m gonna have to burn you, aren’t I?” the boy asked, holding up the little thing which was the most hideous thing in Peter’s eyes. Because Stiles was right. There were many ways for him to get back on the Astral Plane and terminate the contract between him and his masters, and one was to burn him. Something Peter could never get used to. It was a part of his curse, most probably. A curse he didn’t even remember; not the reason, or the one who damned him, or why they chose this kind of curse. And Peter was afraid he will never know.

“Then let’s get on with it soon, _Master_.” he started in a low voice, walking closer.

\--

Peter had shorter visits to the Natural World before, of course, but they never summoned him accidentally. Summoning him took a lot of power, concentration and magic and yet, that brat managed to do it and Peter was intrigued. Even after he ended up back on the Astral Plane, he felt unsettled, distressed, somewhat angrier than necessary…

The Astral Plane was still grey and the burned out house still wasn’t too cozy. But Peter felt the change. No, it wasn’t the Astral Plane which had changed, not even the house, but something about Peter’s own existence. He was slowly walking through the house, still feeling the burn marks on his skin from when his latest Master, Stiles, burned him and terminated their pact, wondering what changed, when he finally spotted something.

On the dead tree in the backyard of the house, there was one branch which was bearing one small little _green_ bud.

Things were not alive on the Astral Plane.

Things were grey and dead and astral. And yet, on the tree, there was a life blooming. And it filled Peter with fear rather than hope.


End file.
